Because I Can
by Delete This User Guys
Summary: Cinderella made modern where they face some obscure issues like alcoholism and um..other issues. read and review please. BE WARNEDthere's sex


AUTHOR'S NOTE: this is pretty sexual. okay, it's basically all about sex, so don't read if you don't like that. okay? and don't flame me either, the fact that you're a wuss about the inevitabilities of growing up is your problem, not mine. okay, maybe that was a little harsh... sorry. Anyway, please read and review.

_Well it rains and pours when you're out on your own. If I crash on the couch can I sleep in my clothes? Cause I spent the night dancing, I'm drunk I suppose. If it looks like I'm laughing, I'm__ really just asking to leave. _ _ ** -"The Sharpest Lives"**_

She watches from where she's collapsed exhausted onto the bed. She watches him struggle to lace his dress boots as he hops about their quarters, yelling at the help from where they wait in the doorway, and she watches him shoo away the finicky manservants that try to dress him, until he finally stands there before their single, verticle mirror, examining himself for flaws and smiling at her half of the reflection, caught by the candles and the angling of the stand.

"Hey" he lightly comments, raising his eyebrows at her. Already on his way, this is one last attempt at getting her to speak before he's gone. Gone until morning when she'll have to wake and walk out to the dining hall with him and smile and sip her cold coffee with way too much cream.

Closing her eyes, she turns her head the other way so that she only hears the door close in his absence.

Something trails down her cheek and she doesn't satisfy the owner with a wince, though every muscle aches to. She simply rolls over onto her back and lets her head flop to the opposite side.

"I'm not drunk, I swear." the voice is half slurred, but oddly controlled as the male body weighs down the other side of the bed.

She doesn't smirk, but she doesn't have to as she asks, "Oh, do you want a cookie?"

Mistake. Big mistake.

He's on top of her before he can even see her wince, his body straddling hers a mere second after the words leave her mouth, his nose colliding with hers, and all her vision blocked by his irises.

The snarl he lets out is anything but playful.

"You don't have to like me sweetie, but you ARE going to tolerate me if you want this little arrangement to earn you another room in this godforsaken palace someday, alright? Cause my father may be on his deathbed, but he isn't stupid, and those fucking maids are going to know if one of these sheets moves even and inch off the bed. So you had better get used to me laying next to you for the next four nights if you want to get the hell out of your house. Cause quite frankly, I want you out of my everyday existence just as much as you do."

She inhales deeply through a mix of exasperation and panic, and he doesn't seem to notice because he pauses only seconds before continuing, "In fact...I can't even remember why we danced that night? I can't even remember how we got around to doing it...Did you look like you were gonna put out? Cause I can't think of a single other reason why I would want you anywhere near me."

Ouch. She doesn't respond to that. Doesn't want to give him the satisfaction. That might be why he gets up then, and walks over to the closet, undressing and shoving himself into more comfortable going out clothes before heading back out their bedroom door, adjusting his collar.

"The lights." her soft voice stops him momentarily as she sits up, and when he turns around she catches his gaze trailing down to her now obvious cleavage.

He immediately hides it by meeting her gaze once more and asking, "What are you babbling about?"

"I wasn't babbling, and I said the lights. When we danced that night you kept staring at me. I asked you what you were looking at, and you said with those lights I looked good enough to love." It's a good thing that only one lamp is on in the room, cause if more were lit he would see her snarl.

"I said that?" the question prompts a near bearing of teeth, but she refrains.

"Yeah. Yeah you did. But you wouldn't remember would you?"

He pauses, and just as something about him seems to give in, urged to come over and comfort, the response he shoots back is colder than before, "No. No _my dear_, I guess I wouldn't."

She's looking away when the door slams shut with his departure and for the briefest moment she know's how he must feel when he comes home at night.

He's halfway to the bar when the guilt sets in.

To him, she hadn't looked all that afraid or really all that _anything _when he had straddled her. But still...that she remembers that moment so clearly when he had been so drunk he hadn't even known what was coming out of his mouth just makes him feel sick.

He is sick though isn't he? It hasn't even been two years since the 21rst birthday that had finally allowed him to legally drink, and he's already gossiped to be a severe alcoholic. Of course, he is an alcoholic. Maybe not severe, but an alcoholic nonetheless. So the very idea that he has taken a partnership with someone to bear through this disturbing lifestyle by his side is just plain wrong. Maybe that's why when he steps into the bar tonight, instead of going to up to order a drink from his familiar friend Natalie, he stumbles over to the corner, and throws up all over the tail of a sleeping dog.

She's sick of laying here, so she adjusts herself back on the sheets and lets her eyes droop as she watches some dumb cartoon show on one of the 900 channels the stupid royal family has been so easily suckered into buying.

Goddamn them, they're all suckers.

Suckers to ignore the always correct tabloids, and suckers to let their twisted little son go out like that every night, suckers to throw him a dance that involved every lousy desperate woman in the kingdom, and suckers to accept her into their suckerish, fucked up family.

Then again, she had wanted to come into it hadn't she? Having that stupid limo driver waltz in the front door with the royal message carrier had been like a late birthday present at the time. She shouldn't have listened to those silly catch phrases, those ridiculous old sayings. She should have killed the messenger, should have simply torn him apart, or at least let the dogs do that. She should never have let him come in, sit her down, pullout that damn shoe and tell her that she was the next princess. She shouldn't have let him save her.

Save her? What is she thinking?

She's given up one hell for another.

The room she exchanged for this one had been small and smelly but at least it had comfort to it. This one is sickeningly cold. Dark walls who's color you can barely identify for the lack of more than three lamps in the near windowless room. No, that isn't true. There are some windows, but they line only one wall, and the heavy, unmovable maroon drapes take care of any light that wants to come in. Even the darkness of night is blocked, exchanged for the starkness of the room. Probably defense for Charming's eyes when he comes back in the morning, hung over as hell.

Not that she's being entirely fair. The lights are quite illuminating from their positions, and depending on what's on the television, or where you're sitting, the place could almost pass for having the potential to be cozy. But no, it is not warm. Not like her old place had been.

No, to make any connection to the outside world, she has to put up with the constant presence of overpowering maids during a simple walk out into the cloudy daylight, or she has to resort to the ever familiar chat rooms and forums that his unbelievably good internet connection provides.

Ah, the hell with it. She gets up off the bed and turns on the overdone, never used, spread chandelier that covers a quarter of the ceiling before she heads over to the computer he keeps and turns on his internet explorer.

Maybe ReALover3x10-0 is on tonight. He always knows how to make her laugh. Even when she's feeling like this. Sometimes he knows how to make her do more than that in fact.

God, how long's it been since the dance?

Maybe, just maybe Charming will give her enough time and privacy to "reconnect."

Hot damn. He's on.

She says hi, then gets up and heads over to lock the door, removing her heavy sweatpants and underwear and getting a towel from the bathroom to put on the chair as she sits down before the screen.

Good thing she's so good at typing with one hand.

Charming walks up the stairs to his room with control in his limbs for the first time this past week.

He's sober. Holy hell, he's sober.

Man, this whole married thing is getting to him.

What he needs is a good old Robot Chicken maratho-wait.

His door-it's locked.

He knocks, and carefully calls out, "Ella?"

There's no response from the room.

If she's sleeping, he's gonna-"Ella!" he raises his voice a little and pounds slightly harder.

No response. A groan maybe, if his ears are working right, but that doesn't make any sense...

Fine. If she wants to play that way... "Have it your way. I'll sleep in the much nicer guest room thank you." he storms over to the left, making his way down to the next door room, and after slamming the door, he sneaks back over to his bedroom entrance.

Years of having his stupid younger cousin lock him out have taught him a nifty trick with a credit card so that after pulling out his wallet and fiddling around for a bit he hears the blessed sound of a lock click, and he bursts quickly into the room.

To his utter shock, Ella spins, half naked in his computer chair and with a half scream sprints into the bathroom and closet they now share.

He takes a step back.

Wait. What?

His eyes are drawn to the sweatpants and panties on the bed, and then to the computer screen, the towel on the seat...

What the hell?

Wait-...no. No.

He winces against the suddenly noticeable chandelier, and after briefly turning the damn thing off, he approaches his computer, settled so comfortably against the wall.

No-...

Yes. The IM screen shows a quizitive 'ReALover3x10-0' asking if 'CindERscoRnEd45' is still there.

Charming closes his eyes briefly and scrolls up to read what they have been-Jesus. He stumbles back, and cautiously re-approaches to keep reading and confirm his suddenly horrific suspicions.

Is this supposed to happen? It isn't, is it?

No guy is supposed to come home and find this sort of thing with his wife. Maybe the wife is. Maybe even the occasional gay couple has trouble with it. Or a dating couple could suffer the unfortunate discovery; but newly wedded husbands-even forced ones-are NOT supposed to have to deal with this.

Jesus, what has he done? This is his fault right? Was he not good enough the first time? Should he have kept sleeping with her when she came to the palace? Should he have pretended to care for her? Then again, would she accept his care?

He turns to the bathroom closet door and sighs.

Approaching it cautiously he knocks and braces for the girlish reprimand, but all he receives is the gasping hiccups of someone trying to stop crying. Shit.

He closes his eyes and leans his forehead against the door, calmly trying to speak, "Ella? I know. It's okay. Just-just come out..."

No response. After three days is he really that surprised?

"Ella please-...please just come out. It's okay. I'm a guy. I get it. It's okay, just come out."

Again, not a syllable or octave of sound comes, save for a single gasp.

"Goddammit Ella, I'm not _that_ sober! Just come out...My bathroom isn't THAT comfortable."

A stark laugh suddenly and he's shocked by the utter condemnation in the after tone, "I was a maid for 21 years, you think sleeping in a bathroom is any problem for me?"

He grunts and pulls himself up with protesting limbs, "God Ella, just open the door."

"No."

"Why not?"

Another laugh, "Maybe I want the maid to come in. Come and see what the young prominant couple is really like. Come see the drunk and nymphomaniac."

This time he has to grit his teeth to keep himself from bursting through the locked door in front of him. Why had they installed a lock on the closet/bathroom anyway? What fucking moron came up with that?

"Look, you don't want to go back home, and I don't want to live under my mother's reign, so why don't you just come out and we'll figure out a way we can both get what we want?"

No response.

He's vaguely aware that behind him somewhere his plasma TV is showing old Buffy reruns, but beyond his thoughts is nothing but the white heavy wood before him, taunting and stark.

"Ella, I swear to god I'll break this door down!"

Ella crouches down into the tub, plastering herself against the porcelain side. What has she been reduced to? Why hasn't she at least put on underwear by now?

He's somewhere on the other side there, waiting for her response. Knowing that that door is her only way out of the bathroom and at some point she will need to eat. At some point she will have to come out.

A helplessness pressures out a scream of obscenities, ending with something like, 'selfish ass.'

His turn to laugh, "Selfish ass? You're horny enough to fuck yourself, but not your own husband? Yeah Ella, I'm pretty damn selfish."

She bites her lip enough to bleed and punches the side of the tub, surely injuring her knuckles as she lets out a pained cry.

More laughter, "I can get a physician for that if you would just come out."

"Fuck you!" She doesn't have time to retract the statement or even berate herself for it before his comeback snaps out, through the entrance,

"You won't my dear, that's why we're in this predicament."

She swears to herself and sinks further down into the large tub, trying to think rationally, she finally counters, "Fucking wasn't a part of the deal."

"Well apparently it should have been."

She bites her lip. Fuck, he's right. She knew from the start it would be a problem. Just didn't know how.

She's still trying to come up with words as he seems to be thinking enough for both of them. Beginning from the other side of the door, "Y'know, you're still signed on my dear, and your 'Real lover,'" his tone mocks her with a obvious loathing, "is still waiting. Shall I help him finish for you, or should I simply tell him he's on his own? Judging by your conversation tonight, I'd say he's competant enough to-"

"You sicken me," she interrupts, "you can go out and get drunk, do whatever slut will approach you and I can't keep have one selfish evening for myself?" dammit, she didn't mean to sound as hurt as she just did.

There's a silence and then a disturbingly distressed voice asks, "Is that what you think I do?"

A click and the door opens, her panic peaking as Charming steps through the lockpicked door and stares at her with a rare set of sober eyes, "You honestly I'm doing hookers every night?"

The shock stirred to it's utmost, she snatches a towel from the side, and struggles to wrap herself in it. But before she can even free it from it's folds, he's arrived at the side of the ground laid bathtub, and he's pulled the towel out of her hand as she struggles to get away.

He clamps his hand around her arm and she tries to pull back, starting to scream when he shouts over her, "DAMMIT ELLA SCREW THE DEAL! I'M SOBER AND I WANT YOU TO LISTEN TO ME LIKE I'M YOUR HUSBAND FOR ONCE!"

She stops and stares at him, half naked and shivering in the draft ridden room she studies her prince for the first time and sees the lines under his eyes, gained from obvious loss of sleep that she assumes came as of late, because he certainly never looked like this during that dance...

It's now that she realizes she herself hasn't been sleeping, too uncomfortable next to a man she doesn't think she loves, even in the oversized king bed.

Has he been just as uncomfortable?

What have the two of them been reduced to?

Charming watches her eyes change and he sighs, "Will you let me take you back into the bedroom now? Because neither one of us is going to be comfortable discussing anything in here with you half naked."

She must understand his equal distress at her physical appearance right now because as she holds his gaze, she nods and he gets up to grab her some underwear, as she rises out of the bathtub slowly.

"Here." he's looking towards the rows of clothes that surround the bathtub and his hand is spread out behind him, holding a fresh pair of panties out to her.

"Thank you." she responds with as civil a tone as she'll allow herself.

He turns around as she's pulling them up and grabbing her arm gently once again he leads her out into the bedroom where he grudgingly logs off of AIM, not allowing her to say goodbye as she sinks down to the bed.

He stays standing. He thinks it's better this way.

But then he notices how small her tee shirt is, and how the panties he picked out were as close to a thong as possible without actually-he looks away and coughs.

She must have been in the middle of it cause her nipples are poking up from her breasts like nothing he's ever seen, and she smells like sex, really good sex. God, he's missed what he got a taste of during that dance. He's really missed it.

He coughs again, "We'll discuss this later. You're clearly not in any condition to-"

In a clearly mocking tone she laughs at him, and neither one has to follow his gaze to know it's trailing down to her thighs, which she uses to tease him, rubbing them together and letting out a soft moan. The realization slowly sinks in that she's upset, getting back at him by showing him what he obviously wasn't good enough for.

"I thought you said we were going to discuss this like you're my husband?"

He turns and stares at her, seeing that she's wet, leaking onto his sheets.

"So why can't we discuss this with me in my underwear?" she taunts, and all at once his control snaps. He can't take it anymore. The night of the dance she was...Well, seeing her here like this, he just can't handle it. The smell. The sight. The back and forth. The whole goddamned mess that their deal induced marriage has been. He just can't take it, and as though he's drunk or simply irrational, he rushes her on the bed, and has her pinned back against the sheets in a moment.

She gasps sharply and he could swear she looks more aroused as he straddles her.

He leans down to pant in her ear, "Well if you want to play it that way..." he keeps panting, "What exactly would a husband do, seeing you like this?"

She can feel him rubbing against her and she's suddenly reminded that she didn't get to finish with Daniel just now. Charming interrupted. Charming who is here, on top of her, clearly ready to go wherever she wills, clearly on the same boat as far as sex goes.

God, if he really hasn't been doing whores every night, he must be so-aw hell. He's her husband legally if not emotionally right? So whatever they do right now doesn't even have to be spurred by love. It's just a married couple easing their biological need for something very human, and very important.

Besides, the night of the dance they proved they have at least _something_ between the two of them.

She smiles and wraps her legs around her prince's waist so that he inhales sharply and his erection pushes past his clothes into her ready part.

She groans, "A husband would fuck me right here and now."

Beginning to push down on her, he's heavily breathing, "Well-...What about the agreement? We only have three more days."

He has a point, but quite frankly she's not really sure she can hold back much longer, so she begins to move against him and calmly explains, "We're married Charming. We're not in love, but we're married, and I'm horny and here in bed and so are you. Screw the agreement. In fact, why don't you just screw me right now? Y'know, make the best of this before I change my mind."

He doesn't ask if she's sure. He doesn't even move her up further onto the bed, he just pulls her legs off of him and undoes his pants, groaning.

-.-.-.-

She wakes and has to rub her eyes to clearly see in the still dim lighting of the room.

Beside her, Charming rolls over and moans, subconsciously wrapping an arm around her waist. How he can still sleep is a mystery to her. She's so sore she doesn't think she even consider falling asleep.

Four times. Jesus, that's a lot.

His voice reaches her beyond hot and sweaty memories, "You all packed already?"

She shrugs as she rises to turn on the chandelier light, and after realizing he can't see her she sighs, "Almost. Have some things I could move later I guess."

He nods under where his arm has draped over his eyes, shielding him from the sudden brightness of the ceiling light. He's gotten better about letting her turn it on sometimes but he still acts like a damn vampire when she does.

She sighs again, "So, um...I guess I'll see you at coronation..." going to get dressed she knows he'll be gone when she emerges from the closet again, and she'll find him in the basement bar, sipping a Heinekin and rubbing his eyes as he tries to buck up for the announcement later that he is to be king.

Only three days after their huge blowup and she already knows his routine, what he's thinking. Which is how she knows how lucky she is to be getting another wing to herself.

That night he had really truly been sober, but that didn't mean he would be later. In fact his drinking habits had become increasingly worse -more frequent-now that they had been sleeping together, trying to pretend like the hate didn't matter when they did it.

She's never been very good at lying to herself.

Charming lounges on the bed and listens to her dressing through the crack in the door. With both hands covering his bloodshot eyes, he can see it all. She's pale and thin, but she's shapely too, and well built enough from all that housework so that there's nothing wrong her being a little underweight.

She'll put on the cream bra first, the one that's modest enough for a highness, but low enough to work with her gown. And ah, the gown. She'll actually put on a pair of panties today, and she'll top it all off with the only gown he can picture right now.

She'll wear_ that_ one, and she'll close her eyes as she puts it on to try and remember why this dress had made it so okay for her to just go off and sleep with the prince during a prestigious ball she wasn't even supposed to be attending. He knows it may even kill her a little to be wearing the dress all day, but she'll do it anyway, because that's the only way this will work. Because the people will see her in that dress, with those odd glass slippers she had stolen, and they'll see him in his uniform-like suit looking at her all adoring when she forces a blush, and they'll forever convince themselves that he and Ella are in love. Real love, not the drunken fucks late when she's turned herself on through an online lover and he's convinced himself his morals are **not** messed up. No. The people will "know" deep in their heart of hearts that the royal couple were meant to be, and no amount of separate rooms or partner-less appearances will change that.

She emerges, makeup-less for the time being and seems surprised to see him still there when he turns to look at her.

The dress swishes as she brushes past him almost indignantly, gathering one bag to put by the door for the manservant to pick up.

Charming sighs, "Y'know, if you want to bring a guy back to your room after today, just tell the maids to scat and you can-"

Woah. Wrong choice of parting words, as she spins, interrupting him, "Are you giving me _permission_ to have sex with other men?!"

He's known her just long enough to remedy this, "No!" He protests, sitting up as if indignant, "I was simply telling you how to get away with it when you're supposed be married to me." he said, trying to sound a mix of pissed off and confused instead of guilty and embarrassed.

She sighs, after a pause, she comes over. Bending down she kisses him, slowly, murmuring, "They'll come sweetie, and I'll be careful...but I don't think I need to worry about being married to you, cause we'll be keeping this marriage consummated long after the others have come and gone."

He sighs and lays back down into the cool sheets while she turns off the lights. God, this whole marriage could work; the only hindrance being his climaxing drinking in response to her overall dis-concern for anything regarding emotions or just him in general.

He sighs one more time and somewhere between the hall and the bed, she pauses to look at him once more. He lifts his head slightly to make her laugh, a hint of regret in the tone she uses as he quietly informs her, "The lights. I like them down so low cause...cause in this light, you look lovely enough to be good."

_..This alone, you're in time for the show. You're the one that I need, I'm the one that you loathe. You can watch me corrode like a beast in repose, cause I love all the poison, away with the boys in the band. I've really been on bender and it shows, so why don't you blow me? One kiss before she goes... **-"The Sharpest Lives"**_


End file.
